


touch

by trashemdudes



Series: pressure points [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Blackmail, Extremely Underage, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Unreliable Narrator, assumed daddy kink, psychological abuse, psychological suggestion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashemdudes/pseuds/trashemdudes
Summary: Slade takes control of Damian’s body with orders from Talia to ensure that staying by Dick’s side isn't a viable option.(Damian is 11, Dick is 25 as they are in the comics when Slade uses Damian's body to try to kill Dick.)





	touch

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags!

 

 

Grayson groans, finally waking up and Damian doesn’t slow his fingers, slick, thrusting inside Grayson rhythmically.

Grayson lets out a soft moan, sounding tired and confused, even as his hips buck up unconsciously at Damian’s fingers. It should disgust Damian, what he’s doing, but instead he’s hard, watching the way his fingers disappear into Grayson’s puckered hole, how his other hand, spreading Grayson’s cheeks can press in, the flesh soft.

Grayson’s breathing is hitched and he starts to turn, Damian getting a glimpse of his face, lips flush and eyes dazed.

His insides are soft and hot, and Damian can’t help imagining how it could feel around him, tight and slick. He’s hard, and it's almost a new sensation, the way it consumes him with desire instead of irritation. 

“He’s waking up,” Damian murmurs, trying to make an excuse.

“He’s been injected with a muscle relaxant...along with other chemicals to addle his mind. He won’t be able to refuse,” comes Wilson’s voice in his ear. Amused.

Damian inaudibly licks his lips and inserts a third finger inside Grayson just as the older man’s eyes land on Damian and widen.

“Da- mian?” Grayson slurs, knitting his brow.

“Or is this _your_ refusal?” Wilson asks, mocking, the vibration of his voice in Damian’s ear irritating. It sends a chill of disgust down Damian’s spine and he wants to claw the comm out of his ear, scrub the skin of his ear raw to forget the feeling. “Shall I take over for you? Or did you forget I can hurt him with a click of a button, Damian?”

“No,” Damian grits out, shoving his fingers in rougher, drawing out a moan from Grayson. Grayson attempts to hunch his shoulders and presses his forehead into the mattress, moans slightly muffled now even as he clenches obscenely around Damian’s fingers.

“For a child...” Wilson laughs with an edge, “you’re competent at this. Unless Grayson’s always been this easy.”

Damian grits his teeth. It’s simple anatomy, where Grayson’s prostate is. Damian’s known these things since he was four, where every single organ and nerve is. He doesn’t respond, only draws his fingers out again and puts more lube on them. Like what he read. Except more enticing. It’s Grayson laid out before him, sweaty hair matted to his head, disoriented. Needy.

“Four this time,” Wilson says, “your fingers are rather small...though I suppose other parts of you are still small as well. But it’s better to be prepared as your Father _used_ to believe.”

Damian pictures grasping Wilson’s neck and strangling him slowly, increasing the pressure bit by bit until Wilson’s red in the face, choking, spittle dribbling from his lips and his eyes are bulging.

Damian spreads the lube more evenly around his four fingers, shaking, as he chooses not to reply.

“Or maybe you should just fist him.”

Damian lets out a sharp breath, seeing red, and he can hear Wilson’s laughter loud in his ear.

“Ahh...” Grayson moans, and Damian’s attention flips back to him immediately, unable to help the way his eyes trail the tanned skin of his slim waist, the lines of his torso widening as they reached his chest and shoulders. He wants to touch him.

Grayson’s hips are bucking and Damian pauses, not certain of why, except Damian realizes that Grayson is rubbing his cock against the mattress, unfocused and rushed.

“Well?” Wilson says.

Damian slides four fingers inside Grayson and it’s slightly more difficult to press in, but they fit even if Damian’s fingers are pressed together by Grayson slick muscle; Damian knows from earlier that that’ll change soon. He spread his fingers out wide and Grayson - likes that, tensing and making a sharp moan. Grayson’s aborted thrusts become more hurried as he bucks up into Damian’s fingers, and Damian watches, entranced, keeping his hand still, at the way his fingers disappear and reappear from inside Grayson’s hole. It’s erotic. It’s - Damian is panting hard now, and his hand on Grayson’s hip squeezes down tightly.

“Don’t come in your pants, kid. You have to fuck your brother first.”

“Shut up,” Damian grits out, fighting the shudder of pleasure at the way Grayson looks; he can only see his profile from his position, but Grayson’s cheeks are flushed, his lips parted into a small o, and he looks - exposed, overwhelmed by Damian’s touch. Damian licks his lips; he's curious about how Grayson tastes, wants to lick the sweat from his stretched neck, make Grayson whimper when sink his teeth into the giving flesh of his shoulder.

Except Daman’s angered vocalization brings Grayson back, and his eyes focus on Damian, expression turning into one of horror. Wilson’s laughter is faint in the background, a sound Damian’s mind distances for the rush of blood to his face, his face turning red in shame, as he tries to find words to explain himself. Words he won’t be able to say.

Grayson tries to scramble away, the separation of Damian’s fingers from inside him, making a wet, dirty sound. Damian watches shocked. He still forces himself not to shake.

“Oh. Guess we didn’t give him enough, huh? Well, he’s always had an amazing willpower.”

The tone is sarcastic, even Damian can tell, and he knows Wilson did this on purpose. Gave Grayson just little enough so he could attempt an escape to force Damian to chase after him, drag him back.

Damian reaches out, grabs Grayson’s hips, but his hands slide on his skin from the lube and Grayson’s movement are slow and languid, trying to escape still as he turns on his back to be able to see Damian fully, to admit that it is Damian at all. It gives Damian a perfect view of Grayson's hips and toned thigh, cock hanging heavy between his legs. Damian distantly thinks about sucking Grayson off, how he would taste.

“Damian, why are you...” Grayson slurs, eyes unfocused even if as bright as ever. Damian wishes his eyes could stay on Grayson’s face, but Grayson finally finishing turning and his eyes are continually drawn down to his nipples, tight and hard on his heaving chest, the curl of his abs, his leaking cock and the cheeks Damian wants to press his fingers into and spread to see Grayson's muscles spasming. Damian wants to touch, and whether he’s being forced to actually do it or not, the fact that he wants to is...it’s too easy to dismiss Grayson’s fear still mostly muddled by confusion with the pounding thoughts of touching him, forcing him down, feeling him struggle and writhe, him sliding his hands all over Grayson. It’s always Grayson who orders him around who has his cool, and never Damian.

He wants to _touch_ him.

Wilson’s voice draws him out again.

“Tell him he asked for it,” Wilson says, “Tell him that last night at the charity gala, he came onto you while drunk and said that he wanted this, wanted to be fucked by you because you look so much like your daddy.”

Damian’s voice trembles at the beginning. “You asked me for it, Grayson. Last night,” Damian says softly, sliding his hand along Grayson’s thigh, starting from squeezing his knee to curve around the bicep femoris to the crease between his ass and thigh where Damian runs two fingers along in a curved line before cupping his ass, squeezing, and then pressing his fingers into the cleft and the tips into Grayson’s wet hole. He strokes him and thinks too much about entering him. “You were drunk, and you came onto me,” Damian’s mouth sounds like a separate creature. “Touched me. You said...” Damian’s voice trembles again, and distantly a surge of hatred and shame at the thought of Wilson hearing it rises, “...you said that you wanted me to fuck you. Because...because I remind you so much of Father.”

Damian doesn’t think Grayson is breathing anymore, the man frozen, paralyzed in fear.

“No...” Grayson whispers, eyes wide.

Damian crawls forward, lower legs bracketing Grayson’s hips and hands bracketing his shoulders. Grayson falls back as Damian comes closer.

“Yes...” Damian replies softly. He wants to kiss him, feel how his lips would give under Damian’s. Make them red and swollen, and hear Grayson’s pants, the puff of warm breath against his cheek. He wants Grayson to be weak and vulnerable around him.

“Hurry it up,” Wilson says, bored.

Grayson stares at Damian before turning his back, trying to escape again, and Damian lets him move onto his stomach and crawl a few inches before Damian sits up on his folded legs. He grabs Grayson’s ankle and drags him back, the man lacking the strength to resist.

Grayson curses, but even his voice is erotic there, obscene, the way he squirms, and Damian realizes that Grayson’s cock is being dragged against the sheets as well.

Damian drags Grayson’s hips onto his lap and tugs down his own sweat pants, swallowing, as he grabs himself and positions himself against Grayson.

Damian pauses, remembering what’s he read. He should be wearing protection.

Wilson seems to predict what he’s about to say. “Fuck him bare, Damian.”

Damian stiffens at his words before repositioning his hands on Grayson for a better hold.

“I...I wouldn’t say that kind of thing, Damian,” Grayson says, low, desperate.

It takes Damian a moment.

Damian knows Grayson wouldn’t, knows he didn't. But he doesn’t know if Grayson would ever think it; he wonders how often Grayson compares him to Father and how well he stands against Father. He can’t help the nauseous little curl in his stomach at that thought. 

He wants to be better than Father.

He thrusts in to the hilt and nearly comes then and there, the sensations so new and Grayson’s muscles are tight and hot, convulsing around him. Damian groans sharply, breathing too fast and too heavily as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to embarass himself. He wants to come inside him so badly. Grayson’s clutching the sheets, letting out a loud moan in instant response, and everything’s oversensitized for Damian, being inside Grayson, the scent of familiar sweat, hearing his moans, the slick sounds too loudly, the press of Grayson’s ass against his hips when he’s up to the hilt, the skin so soft, and the flesh giving way to his hip bones

He starts slow, pulling out an inch before pushing back in, too greedy for the tight heat and the sound Grayson makes, desperate, each time he moves. He grinds in for a moment before pulling back out to the tip, making sure to aim properly this time. Grayson's almost sucking him in even then with the way his muscles convulse. Damian's moaning just as loudly as Grayson now.

"Haaa...gh...Grayson. _Grayson_."

Grayson’s responding stuttered cry is inappropriately lewd. Grayson’s voice should sound like that every single time he speaks. 

“Good,” Wilson says, and Damian ignores him. “But I can do better, kid.”

And then Damian’s body jerks and his hips are snapping out of his control, harsh and fast into Grayson, rougher. His hands readjust without Damian’s commands and they pin Grayson down by his biceps as Damian’s body leans over Grayson and bite down hard on the back of Grayson’s neck, pulling at the flesh as he sinks his teeth in.

Grayson lets out a strangled moan.

Damian’s body licks at the blood, switching to sucking at the center of the bite, hard enough for a dark red spot to appear.

“Like that, Robin?” Damian’s voice whispers into Grayson’s ear.

“No...no-no,” Grayson stutters inbetween breathless moans, sounding like he’s begging and it shouldn’t make Damian harder, but it does. “Please, Damian.”

“Please what, Robin?” Damian’s voice asks, grinding into Grayson.

“Sto-op,” Grayson groans, “I’m going to come.” His voice is high and breathy at the end.

“Isn’t that the goal?” Damian’s voice asks. “Isn’t that what you asked me for last night, hands unable to keep to yourself?”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“Are you certain? How much of last night do you remember?”

Damian wants to pet Grayson's hair, rub his shoulder like Grayson attempts to when he notices Damian is off, but his fingertips aren't in his control and only skim Grayson’s scarred, heated skin, drawing out another stifled moan.

Grayson lets out a sob as Damian’s body pulls out to the tip and slams back in, snapping his hips faster. The sounds are obscene in the dim, humid room, curtains pulled almost completely shut, only allowing thin light to filter through and a stripe of light across the room. The scent of sex is too strong. There's only the slick sounds of Damian’s body fucking into Grayson’s loose hole, Grayson’s breathy moans, and Damian’s own gasping.

It isn’t him in control, but Damian can still feel every sensation as Wilson uses Damian’s hand to reach for Grayson’s nipples and pinch them hard. He yanks at them harshly and Grayson lets out a high groan that sends a streak of pleasure down Damian’s spine. Wilson has Damian lick his fingers before reaching for Grayson’s nipples again to pull and pinch them until they’re stiff. He rolls them between his fingers, enjoying the way Grayson stiffens with every pinch and every thrust, only a mess of jerks and flinches at Damian’s touch.

Then Wilson has Damian reach down to grasp Grayson’s cock, leaking and Damian is surprised at how wet he is.

Wilson forces Damian forward, thumbing Grayson’s slit, to whisper, “You wish I was him, don’t you? My Father. _Your_ Father. Call his name. It's easy. _Bruce_. _Dad_. _Daddy_.”

Grayson shakes his head incoherent.

“Damian, please,” Grayson appeals to him, and it’s the way he says Damian’s name that sends Damian over, spilling inside Grayson whose breath hitches at the heat spilled inside him.

Damian is breathing heavily, limp as he slumps over Grayson, head pressed against Grayson’s sweaty back. The scent of Grayson is overwhelming, and Grayson’s still shifting under him, still hard. Damian wonders if he rubs Grayson's stomach hard, he'll be able smear his cum all along his insides.

Damian has his body back, and Wilson says, “Finish him off.”

Damian doesn’t, cheek pressed against Grayson’s back, able to feel his quickened, liquid heartbeat; his eyes are burning.

When he ignores Wilson again, Grayson lets out a sudden scream, clamping around Damian painfully tight, and Damian says, low, “I’ll kill you, Wilson. I’ll tear you apart piece by piece.”

“You’re welcome to try, but I’d be more concerned about Grayson there. He looks like he’s in pain.”

Damian stiffens before reaching around to grasp Grayson’s length and shifts his hand up and down to the throbbing heat in his palm, Grayson slackening after a few seconds. He becomes tense again after a moment, panting loudly as he grasps at the sheets and then finally spills into Damian’s palm and the sheets.

“Don’t pull out,” Wilson says into Damian’s ear.

Damian will start with his nails. Peel them off. And then he’ll skin him, starting from his fingertips.

“Damian...” Grayson gasps, after the deafening silence in the room. “Why?”

It must almost be second nature to Grayson to ask Damian that now. He always asks why. He always waits for Damian to explain himself. He always gives him the benefit of the doubt.

And Damian’s mind is a mess between Wilson’s low chuckles in his ear, and his guilt and shame, his need to apologize and the hope, a small, pathetic hope that Grayson will still forgive him for this, that he’ll still care for Damian after this.

It comes out as a small, fearful thing, “You said it before. You want me, right, Grayson?” His voice is too high and pleading.

Grayson trembles and shoves Damian off him with one hand near covering the expanse of Damian’s chest as he pushes and moves to sit up. The drugs must be wearing off. Damian watches his languid movements and how Damian’s come slides out of his swollen hole, dripping onto the sheets.

Grayson presses a hand to his face, and says, “Get out, Damian.”

“Gray-”

“Get out,” Grayson yells, the room seeming to shake at his volume, except his voice is still raw.

Damian freezes and yanks up his sweatpants with shaking hands as he stumbles off the bed, nearly falling on his face and exits Grayson’s room.

He’s in the hallway when Wilson speaks again. “Your mother and I will be expecting your return sometime this week.”

Damian doesn’t respond, just seethes silently, nails digging into his palm under blood drips out.

He walks stiffly back to his room and takes a scalding shower, trying to burn off Wilson's voice that seem have sunken into his skin.

Then he packs his bags, shoving clothing and weapons haphazardly into the duffels. But he shoves them under his bed when he’s done and falls asleep too easily despite the nausea in his stomach. 

When Damian wakes up, he hesitates to leave his room, but he needs to know, hopes, hopes his words got through to Grayson, drawing a grain of his pity. Damian’s never wanted sympathy before. He does now.

When he walks down the hallway, he happens to see Grayson just exiting his room, bite and bruise on his neck too visible under his short hair.

He sees Damian and freezes.

Damian reaches out, “Grays-”

Grayson turns quickly and walks down the hallway, disappearing from Damian’s sight.

Grayson’s gaze held unease, fear at Damian’s outstretched hand, and Damian lets his hand fall. He clenches it at his side instead. It is better if he disappears from Grayson’s sight, if he returns to Mother.

“You want me, right, Grayson?” Damian whispers softly only to himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is weird, but I can never tell if someone wants a reply to their comment or not. So if you do comment, and want a response, put an @ at the beginning!


End file.
